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Cyrus had known who he was all along.
As the SUV sped away, I pulled a tissue from a box and calmly wiped the blood from my nose and cheek.
"Posie. The passcode to the estate’s chapel is 7-8-9-5-6-7-9. Wait for me there."
I nodded instinctively, the crimson stain blooming on the white tissue.
I kept my eyes on him.
Thorne’s crew had a ritual: after every kill, they went to their private "chapel" to light candles.
Was it for forgiveness? Or a mockery of God? I suspected the latter.
He dropped me off at the chapel gates, claiming he had business to settle.
Inside the cavernous hall, I looked up at the towering, gold-leafed statues and felt a sudden, chilling dread.
Was there no law? No justice? How could a man kill in broad daylight and walk away smiling?
"That cop..." Cyrus’s voice echoed from behind me. I hadn't heard him enter.
"I told him I was going to cut out your tongue and sell you to a syndicate in Lisbon... he couldn't hold back. He sent men to warn you, but my people intercepted them. I let his 'informant' tell him you were being sold today."
"He knew it was a trap. He knew I was baiting him. But he still ran here at dawn to save you. He couldn't gamble on the chance that I was lying—even though I really was going to sell you if he hadn't shown up. You were very important to him, Posie."
The barrel of his gun pressed against my spine, tracing the line of my vertebrae.
"Mr. Thorne, I—"
"Stop acting."
He stepped in front of me, the gun now leveled directly at my forehead.
"A seven-digit code, heard once and memorized. Posie... your memory is a bit too good for a fool, isn't it? Are we going to keep playing this game?"
I could hear my own breathing.
After all the years of acting, all the careful layers... it was ending here, in this cold, holy place. But my mind was empty. When the Captain fell, something inside me had simply stopped.
I stepped forward, gripping the barrel of his gun and pulling it against my heart.
"I was acting," I whispered.
"When I was trafficked to that village, I had to be a fool, or they would have broken me. And when you saved me, I didn't tell you the truth because..."
"Because I wanted to stay with you so badly."
I looked into those black eyes. "If you knew I wasn't a fool, you never would have kept me around. You're too smart, Cyrus. Too careful."
He watched me, his gaze trying to strip my soul bare.
"That cop... he wanted me. He wanted to take me away. I hated his 'righteous' face, telling me you were a bad man. I know you're a bad man, Cyrus. But so what? History is written by the winners."
I tightened my grip on the gun.
"To me, you are justice. As for that cop... let him be dead. If his death helped you, I’m glad."
Silence. Heavy and suffocating.
His eyes remained dark, devoid of amusement. He was calculating, and I was betting my life on his ego.
"Is that so? Then tell me the rest in hell."
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
What are the odds of a Glock jamming? One in a thousand.
We both looked up at the statues above.
They looked down with cold, indifferent eyes.
Cyrus recovered first. He cleared the jam and pressed the gun back to my chest.
He lingered there for a long time.
Then, he lowered the weapon.
"Heh."
He turned and walked out of the chapel without looking back.
I collapsed to the floor, the tears finally breaking through.
I sobbed until I couldn't breathe, my heart shattering in the silence of the gilded hall.
